


First Impressions

by OceanTheSoulRebel



Series: Escaping the Cage [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Gen, Zevran trying to talk himself into Surana's good graces, and realizing she might not actually have any, blood mentions, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 03:25:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14886732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OceanTheSoulRebel/pseuds/OceanTheSoulRebel
Summary: Zevran, meet Ilya Surana of the Grey Wardens: highly skilled mage, alleged kingslayer, and recent fugitive of the crown.Ilya, meet Zevran Arainai of the Antivan Crows: assassin-for-hire, terror of Antiva, and your attempted murderer.Play nice.





	First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this at like, 5am, sleepy and kinda drunk, and didn't beta it. Hopefully it's not too much of a mess.

The first time he saw her - really  _saw_  her - he was struck by the danger that radiated from her in cold waves.

Covered in blood, she was, and she didn’t flinch when his companions peppered her with arrows or came at her with swords. She proved to be a formidable opponent, dodging and weaving through the impromptu battlefield, kicking and clawing - and did he see her  _bite_  Raoul?

He narrowed his eyes and tightened his grip on his daggers, balancing their familiar weight. With an easy leap he vaulted over the wagons, throwing himself again into the fray, lashing out with his blades. She left herself open when she fired off those spells, and he had to press the opening if he was to complete his task.

But the Grey Warden was no easy mark, not even for a skilled assassin such as himself.

Zevran watched as she froze three of his band to the earth, their boots encased in ice as her companions moved behind her, striking out with blades and magic at the pitiful fools who had gotten caught in her path. She was…

She was deadly, and she was  _furious._

Too swiftly he found that fury directed at him, and his feet slipped on a patch of ice she conjured beneath him. A small point of pride swelled in his chest that she recognized his danger for what it was, singling him out. Brilliant tactician, she was. Worthy of the Crows. He had wondered if Loghain had paid too much to put an untried recruit out of her misery, but no, no he did not.

But Zevran was distracted, and she was not nearly as inept as Loghain had hoped; another spell brought him crashing to his back, and she was soon upon him.

Before he could throw his hands up to block the blow, the warden cracked him at his temple with her heavy staff, and the world went dark.

* * *

He woke to her glorious face contorted in a near-murderous gaze, pointed directly at his personage. Painful clouds still fogged his mind as he came around to wakefulness, the heavy boot of her companion - one of the warriors, a massive Qunari man who looked as liable to growl as to speak - resting painfully at his hip. He blinked at the sight of a blade under his chin; an unfortunate reflex could easily end him, and surely that was the point.

“I rather thought I would wake up dead, or not wake up at all, as the case may be, but I see you haven’t killed me yet,” he observed. Blood pounded erratically in his ears and he tried to take an internal assessment of his wounds, but the boot pressed down when he shuffled, distracting him from his purpose.

A bad sign, then, though it is rarely good when someone who could kill you, and has reason to do so, instead chose against it. He studied her face. Fruitless interrogations were certainly not his idea of fun, but this woman did not seem to be the interrogating type.

He eyed the Qunari standing above him. That one, on the other hand, might prove to be a useful torturer. Zevran filed the assessment away.

The Warden - and surely this was she, matching the reports and descriptions Arl Such-and-such had given him - narrowed her eyes at him.

 _A pity, that_. They were such beautiful eyes, a deep green set into tanned skin that reminded him of his Antiva.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you now.”

Zevran shook his head and swiftly regretted the action. “Oh, you most certainly should. It would be easier on us both if you do, in fact, but I would rather prefer you don’t,” he replies.

She scrunched her nose with distaste and brandished her staff like a blade before him. “I could still make that happen.” There was no threat in her tone, just a weary confidence. “You will answer some questions.”

He narrowed his eyes at the words but relented, raising his hands slightly to find them bound at the wrist. Smart, these adventurers. “I see I am to be interrogated. Let me save you some time,” he offered glibly. “I am Zevran, Zev to my friends.” His introduction drew an eye-roll from the human warrior - the other Grey Warden, if his assumption was correct. “I am a member of the Antivan Crows, sent here for the sole purpose of slaying any remaining Grey Wardens - which I have failed at, sadly.”

“Spectacularly so, thank the Maker,” the male Warden grumbled lowly.  

The dagger-wearing rogue to the side nodded. “Antivan Crows,” she mused, “the infamous assassins’ guild. As expensive as they are deadly, they are said to always get their mark. And seeing that we are alive, that means either you are not truly a Crow, or you are particularly new at it.”

Zevran smiled at her, snapping sharp teeth in her direction. “I am glad to hear our reputation precedes me.” The rogue only grinned back at him, surely seeing her barb struck deep.

“Focus, assassin,” the Warden said, her staff jostling his shoulder slightly to get his attention. “Crow, or magpie, or whatever you are, you will answer. Who sent you?”

“Ah, a rather taciturn fellow in the capital. Loghain, I believe his name is? Yes, that’s it.” She shifted uneasily on her feet, glancing at the other Warden, and Zevran nearly stumbled through his next words, fighting to stay ahead of the questions she would surely ask. “But I have no idea what his issues are with you. The usual, I imagine - you threaten his power, yes? And he seems such a powerful man. Beyond that, no, I am not loyal to him. I was contracted to perform a service.”

The other Warden stirred, his gaze flickering from their other companion to himself and back. “Should we deal with him and get on with it? We are losing daylight and this patch of road is too exposed.”

“Maybe, Alistair. Still, he might have information…” She met Alistair’s gaze then turned back to him. “What now, since you’ve failed to perform this service?”

Interesting question, that. What now, indeed? “Well,” he hedged, “that is an issue between Loghain and the Crows, and the Crows and myself.”

“And between you and me?”

“Is that not what we are establishing?”

Her sharp nod pressed the plated boot further into his hip, and he grit his teeth against the wash of pain. He felt blood trickling down his back under his leathers in a few places, now that his mind had time to catch up to his body.

“When are you next supposed to see him? When are you supposed to return to Loghain?”

“Never - if I succeeded, I would return home. The Crows would inform your Loghain of the results, if he didn’t already know. And if I failed, well, I would be dead, or I should be, as far as the Crows are concerned. No need to see Loghain then. A simple arrangement, really.”

 _“If_ you had failed?” The redheaded rogue laughed. Oh, he liked that one. “Only an ‘if,’ then?”

“What can I say? I am an eternal optimist.”

The Warden chuckled lowly, which he noticed drew a glare from the other one - Alistair, a warrior, with good training and a quick eye on the field. Yes, Zevran remembered that blade well. She shook her head, her loose hair fluttering around her face where it wasn’t caked in blood.

 _What does it say about me that she is so lovely like this?_  he wondered, and could feel himself growing lightheaded.

“Though the chances of me succeeding at this point seem a bit slim, don’t they?” He laughed, the motion painful in his burning chest. Broken ribs, then, or cracked, at the very least. “No, I don’t suppose you would find that funny, would you?”

Her tight lips gave him his answer. “You are rather chatty for a man who tried and failed to kill us.”

Ah, so now she wondered. Hopefully she was as curious as she is deadly. Zevran grinned. “Why not? I wasn’t paid for my silence, though I did not offer it for sale, precisely.”

Alistair glanced at the sky. “Surana, I’m not sure about inviting the attempted assassin to tea. Surely we can go? He did just try to kill us, and doesn’t seem particularly remorseful about it.”

 _Braska._ He could see the minute opportunity slipping him by as she tilted her head toward Alistair, not quite taking her eyes off of him. “Here’s the thing,” Zevran said quickly, catching her attention fully again. “I failed to kill you, so my life is forfeit. That’s how it works. If you don’t kill me, the Crows will. The thing is, I like living, and you obviously are the sort to give the Crows pause. So… let me serve you, instead.”

“Absolutely not! Leliana, tell her what a bad idea this is.”

“And why not?” The rogue - Leliana, an Orlesian name to fit her accent - asked, turning to Alistair. “The Crow has a point. He is obviously a skilled fighter, and if he truly is a Crow, a good assassin.”

“A  _great_  assassin, if I might interject.”

Alistair rolled his eyes. “But he’s an  _assassin_. Who just tried to murder us. Who is working for Loghain.”

“‘Was’ - I ‘was’ working for Loghain. Not anymore, obviously.”

 _“Obviously.”_  The word dripped with venom that might rival those of his daggers. “Well, I, for one, vote against it. We could only expect the same level of loyalty as Loghain.”

Oh, that smarts. “I happen to be a very loyal person! Up until the point where someone expects me to die for failing, but that’s not truly a fault, is it?” He looked at Surana, who seemed to be at least considering the idea. “Unless, that is, you are the sort to do the same thing, in which case I… don’t come highly recommended, I suppose.”

Surana hummed noncommittally, but Alistair took the chance to ask a question of his own. “What’s to stop him from finishing the job later? Surana, really, it’s not worth it, is it?”

“To be completely honest, I didn’t have a choice regarding joining the Crows.” 

And with that, her eyes drew to his, wary but curious. A crack in her guard.

 _Ah, yes - this, this I can work with,_  he thought. “They bought me on the slave market when I was a child.”

Alistair must have seen something her expression; he threw his hands up in frustration. “No, no,  _no,_  Surana, it’s not the same thing.”

“Alistair -”

“You can’t recruit everyone like a lost puppy!” Somewhere behind them, a dog barked loudly. “Okay, Barkspawn is an actual dog, but come on, Surana. Surely you can see reason?” For the first time Surana turned from him, her gaze leaving Zevran entirely.

He might actually win this one. It was a heady thought, though that might have been the bloodloss.

“I think I’ve paid my worth back to them, plus tenfold. The only way out, however, is to sign up with someone they can’t touch. Even if I did manage to kill you now, they might kill me just on principle for failing the first time. Honestly… I’d rather take my chances with you.”

Surana eyed her other companions. “Morrigan, Sten, what do you think?”

“’Tis a foolish venture. He is a blade already buried in your back; slay him now and let’s get to somewhere we can make camp,” another voice says, higher, melodic. Another woman. Who was missing, then? Ah, the dark one; another mage, he remembered, but where was she hiding?  

The foot on his hip shifts. “The sooner we resolve this question, the sooner we are fighting the Blight. Do or do not recruit him, make the decision.”

“I say we let him come, Surana. He could be useful, at the least, no? Surely we can find use for his daggers that don’t include our throats.”

“I can protect myself from the Crows and their wily ways, and protect you, too,” Zevran offered, drawing a glower from Alistair, “not that you seem to need much help.” Hopefully Surana would make her decision soon - he was beginning to see double, and the edges of his vision were swiftly turning cloudy.

Ah, he might win some measure of freedom just die at the hands of the famed Grey Wardens anyway. It was not a comforting thought.

Alistair sputtered. “He’s just, he’s just lulling you into a false sense of security!”

“And he’s doing a fine job of it, unfortunately,” she said carefully. Surana crouched before him and drew her dagger. “Believe me when I say I don’t trust you, and I wouldn’t suggest my companions to, either. You are dangerous, and I have no qualms about killing you should you decide I’m not as scary as you think.”

Her blade wavered near his face as she spoke, and it hurt his eyes to focus on the glint of the dying sunlight on metal. “But you and Leliana make good points. You are a weapon, but you could be  _our_  weapon. If you are committed to honoring this life debt or whatever you feel is owed here if I spare you, then… Well, we’ll take the chance.”

“I… thank you,” Zevran said carefully. It was a good dagger, after all, and even a worn blade could just as easily pierce his breast, were she to change her mind.

Surana surprised him by untying the knots around his wrists herself, her fingers hot against his bruised and scraped skin.  She helped him to his feet, though he soon found himself leaning on the Qunari man for balance - surely this one was named Sten, unless Morrigan was a Qunari name? He assumed so, at least, having not made proper introductions yet.

“You will not regret this,” he swore.

“I’m sure we will, at some point,” Surana countered. An easy flick of her wrist had her dagger sheathed neatly at her waist, and she shook the bloodied bandages that had been used and discarded while he lay unconscious. “But lucky for me, I have a large sample of your blood handy, should that come to pass. I expect that will help convince you to play nicely with us, yes?”

A cold tremor ran through him.  _Braska, a blood mage?_  But surely no Circle trained mage would… He shook his head, reconsidering his scant knowledge on the woman before him. “So it seems you do. I am at your command, my Warden. I would bow in my fealty to you, but I would rather not, all the same.”

She chuckled again. “You do look rather pale.” Surana cast an assessing glance over him, no doubt taking in his wounded state. “Okay. You’re coming with us, which means we’re going to need to make camp sooner, rather than later. I’m not going to save your life just to let you die.”

Well. This he could work with, he supposed. Surely he’d been in tougher messes than this, though none immediately came to mind.

He and Sten hobbled over the road and snaked their way into the forest, but not before he could hear Alistair’s nervous whispering behind him.

“You’re… you’re not  _really_  a blood mage, though, are you? You were just saying that to scare him. Right? Surana?”

Surana moved quickly ahead of the group, taking the lead position with her staff out, using it like a walking stick as they moved through the trees. She didn’t refute her implied claim of being such a dangerous mage.

He’d have to be as careful with her as she with him, it seemed. Ah, well. Good thing he had both eyes open, then.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr at [ocean-in-my-rebel-soul!](https://ocean-in-my-rebel-soul.tumblr.com)  
> 
> 
> Comments and concrit always appreciated! Thank you for reading!


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